


Hurt Tonight

by NattieFOURLarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anger, Angry Kissing, Angry Sex, Angst, Angst and Feels, Break Up Talk, Confessions, Declarations Of Love, Drunkenness, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson Break Up, Hate Sex, Hatred, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Loss of Control, Loss of Trust, Love, Love Confessions, Love/Hate, M/M, Please Don't Hate Me, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:33:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27111247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NattieFOURLarry/pseuds/NattieFOURLarry
Summary: They both begged to be forgiven, fought their own inner demons, and attempted to make things right with one another. It felt as if they were impenetrable. But they were wrong for each other and no matter how hard they fought reality, they just couldn't overcome their differences.Or14k words of pure angst, lust, kissing, sex, and two very heartbreaking confessions.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Hurt Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Holy shit I'm apologizing now. I was having a moment, in fact I'm living in that moment, and this was created. I hope you don't hate me after!
> 
> Love you ;)

It’s that very place behind his ear, the small crevice at the base of his lobe where his jawline begins, a sensitive area in general that gives him body numbing chills when grazed just right. Especially with lips, especially with _those_ lips, especially with _their_ lips. They’re delicate and smooth, skilled, their movements purposeful as they press gently into his skin. It’s that single pressure point that pushes him over the precipice, the soft, feather light contact that ignites these sensations throughout his body. It’s radiating all over, it’s forcing the air from his lungs, it’s bringing him closer to the end.

It’s grounding him.

Those lips continue to draw him deeper, pull at his lobe with just enough force, brush over his neck and cheek bone. They hold a promise that is. They hold the key. They hold too much power over him.

The moment is of pure bliss, their shared desires sending him higher towards the heavens, his release inevitable even as he tries his best to hold back. There’s just no chance. He’s lost his opportunity to escape.

He quivers then as his partner’s tongue grazes his skin, bites the inside of his cheek to suppress his groan. Their fingers tangle into his hair, their hips press him further into the cushions as they delve deeper. He’s completely succumbed to them no matter how hard he fought the urge. 

They’re plump and supple, familiar, hold the control he cannot seem to grasp onto. It’s as if the moment they made contact, his walls crumbled. But they’re just a set of lips. Lips. Their lips. Fuck, their lips!

He scrunches his eyes closed, curses himself as they progress, as their bodies continue to collide, as the slight ache in his back reminds him of the hurt he suffered through. And it should be the answer, the pain should be the _NO_ his voice is failing to project. Instead he’s moaning, crying out, gripping at the man lying over him as if this moment is their last.

Why can’t it be? Why can’t he let go?

Those fucking lips that’s why. They spewed too many lies, vocalized the denial he hid within himself, uttered the final words that tore them apart. They exposed the truth. They revealed too much. And he can’t accept it.

But they’re giving him pleasure, they’re righting the wrong, they’re reminding him this wasn’t a total waste. They’re just too good and he can’t lie to himself any longer. So he takes it, cups this person’s cheeks and urges them to kiss him on the mouth, urges them to pick up their pace with his own hips. 

He’s thankful his screams are muffled as his body ignites with desire, as he cowers from the pressure and the ache and the longing. But he can’t give in. He knows this pleasure is temporary, tempting, but a fleeting moment. His heart can’t bear the heartache.

Those lips are rough against his own, unfeeling, unforgiving, unimaginable because how could he let it get this far? How could he let his barriers collapse with just a glimpse? How could he be so easy? Why did he let them-

They bite his tongue, rouse him from his thoughts, drive their hips down, and pump and pump and pump!

He breaks their mouths apart, finally finds the courage to look into their eyes, holds their penetrating gaze as they work themselves to exhaustion. He finds their satisfaction staring back at him and just a bit of smugness, possibly horror, and regret. 

Oh the regret he is able to distinguish as clear as day.

His partner reaches between their sweated torsos, grips onto him, nearly sends him over the edge with just a touch. His hands extend towards their rear, cups their ass and forces them forward, the momentum numbing to his senses. The swell of euphoria crashes into him like a tidal wave, pushes his choked moans past his dry throat, sends his arousal in an upward spiral towards the heavens.

He throws his head back into the pillows, spreads his legs wider, savors in the connection they’ve created considering reality will soon rear its head. _Reality_. Why wasn’t he able to come to his senses earlier? Why did he lean in first?

He scrunches his eyes closed, uses his own strength to match his partner’s, fills the small space between them with his whimpers. He doesn’t even care. He has to release it! He’s too far gone!

Blood is rushing to his core, his body is awakening with pleasure, the pressure between his legs is growing, swelling, expanding! He releases his partner’s ass and extends his hands above his head, grips the couch and allows them to properly fuck into him. 

It’s blinding. He’s seeing stars. He’s close! 

Those lips return to his sweated skin, kiss him behind his ear, lick at him like he’s a fucking lollipop, tastes and laps up his sweat. And it was done purposefully because they know.

His breaths come quicker, his chest heaves from exhaustion, his brain scrambles with thoughts of him cumming and what’s to happen after. Will that be all? Will they leave as quickly as they arrived? 

They spoke for not even a half hour, proceeded to fight for a solid fifteen minutes, screamed, pushed, threatened. Then he leaned in, gripped his ex's face, and kissed them. It was a stupid move on his part but it felt right at the time. And now he’ll release and feel even more sorry for himself than he did before.

This was his plan, right? He wanted to get fucked rather than fight with the person he loved? Loves? _What_?

He's being stroked, fondled, pleasured, every ounce of will power challenged as this man takes over. It’s just like every other time, every opportunity they had to be in control. It was their way to prove a point, to feel empowered, to feel dominant. To make him feel small.

No.

He cries out once more, spreads his legs as wide as he is able, drapes his arms over the edge of the sofa. He’s wide open, he’s stripped bare, he’s going to release!

There’s no other explanation.

They grip him with more purpose, stroke him long and hard, thrust their hips. He's fully aware of what’s to come and he can’t stand the wait. He wants that tongue on his torso. 

He thrusts his hips in sync with their hand, throws his head back, cries out to the ceiling once more as the end approaches. He’ll release, he’ll feel the pleasure and relief, he’ll feel the sting of regret the moment he calms himself. 

Just like last time.

His breaths come even quicker, his heart is pounding in his chest, his mind reeling from the maelstrom of emotions storming his thoughts. He thought he could handle it, fought his way out of his head from a nightmare he walked through on too many occasions but it seems the evil found him anyway. The evil that is heartache.

He screams their name then, fills the room with the echoes of his need and doubts. Do they feel it too? They must because they too screamed his name, pulsed their hips to prove it, squeezed him, stroked him!

And it’s there. The end that is tumbling towards him in full force. He can’t stop it. He can’t prevent it. He can’t contain the pain residing within him.

“I love you!” He yells as he releases on his torso and chest. The words tumbled free, the three empty words that leave a bitter taste on his tongue, the three words this man took for granted.

.

.

.

.

He knocks a few times and waits, taps his booted toe against the brick walkway, holds a cake box close to his chest. He looks behind him into the darkness, finds his bike resting against an oak tree, nearly reconsiders leaving. But he has to do this. He has to help the new kid, for some reason. Why?

He sighs, “this was stupid.” He grumbles and turns away just as the door opens. “Oh!” His palms begin to sweat. 

“Hi, may I help you?” The woman asks.

He clears his throat, grips too harshly onto the box, “y-yes,” he clears his throat again, “Actually, I came to see-”

“Mom, who’s there…” The boy comes into view besides his mother, the boy with unruly hair and flushed cheeks. 

His heart flutters. By accident of course.

“Oh is this a friend from school?” His unsuspecting mother asks as she takes him in. 

He smiles wide, “well, sort-”

“No,” The boy replies, solemnly. “Just a kid from class.” 

He witnesses the boy’s face fall, finds his own nerves getting the best of him. But he only smiles wider, thrusts the box out, “I brought this for you!”

The boy’s eyes widen, “why?”

“How sweet! Just in time for your birthday!” His mother interjects, her tone kind, “how thoughtful.”

“Yeah, well I figured,” He shrugs, continues to watch the boy. “Everyone needs a birthday cake on their, you know, birthday!” 

The boy’s lips fight off a frown, “depends on the flavor.” 

He waggles his eyebrows, “banana cream!” He says. The boy’s eyebrows spring up. “Oh!” he chuckles to himself. “I assumed you liked-”

“Why, Harry. That’s your favorite!” His mother nudges him closer to the door.

He chuckles, “I guessed right!” 

“Oh,” Harry takes him in finally, then the box. “Thanks but you didn’t have to do that. I already celebrated with my family.” He reaches for the handle, “See ya in school tomorrow,” but his mother shoves him closer instead, “hey!” He flails his arms in protest.

She offers him a wink, “I’ll get you some forks!” 

“Good idea. I knew I forgot something,” He shifts his weight, continues to watch Harry closely. “It’s good you know. I went to that famous bakery in town.”

The boy sighs, “cool. I’m sure it’s delicious. But you know I have chem homework I still have-”

His mother comes into view again, thrusts two forks into her son’s hand, “there ya go!” -then his jacket- “Enjoy the cake! And it was a pleasure meeting you. I think I missed your name?”

“I’m Louis! But my friends call me-”

“Lewis…” Harry mumbles as he reluctantly shoves his arms through his coat sleeve. 

He plasters on a winning grin, “yup!”

“Lovely. It’s such a pleasure to finally meet a kind face. Harry’s had some difficulty making friends,” she shoves her son again.

“I’m going!!” The boy growls and steps onto the porch. 

“Have fun!!” She cheers and closes the door.

“So…” Louis takes a seat on a whickerbench and opens the box, “Left side or right side?”

“Neither!!” Harry snaps unexpectedly, “why did you come here?”

He runs his fork through the whipped cream, “I felt bad.”

“Well, I don’t need your charity or your company! So you can just leave!”

He tastes the cream, “oh that’s good.”

“Are you listening to me!?” The boy stomps over, “I said-”

“I heard you! Now will you try some of this?” Louis shows Harry the cake. “It’s delicious!”

“You’re so annoying,” Harry stamps his foot. “Here and even in school!”

“Maybe,” He shrugs, “but at least I’m entertaining.”

“You’re really not,” The boy is standing a few feet back. “I’m going in. I said what I said and now I just want you to leave.” The trembling in his voice is unmistakable.

“No can do!” He remains adamant, “so take a seat and enjoy your birthday cake.” He tastes the cream again. “You have to smudge your name for good luck.” 

The boy groans, “ugh! I’m going inside!!”

“Then I’ll come back tomorrow,” He shrugs.

“But why!?” 

Louis finds the boy's eyes, “I want to celebrate your birthday with you.” He admits. Why? 

“Why!? I don’t know you! And you laughed at me when those kids-”

He shakes his head, “nope. I didn’t.”

Harry points a finger, “I saw your teeth!! You were laughing! You joined in while they made an ass out of me.”

He turns away, whispers, “that’s why I’m here.” 

“For what!?” The boy grips his hair. 

“To apologize,” He admits. 

“Well, save your breath because I don’t want to hear it!” Harry cries and stomps back inside.

He shudders when the door slams shut, “guess I’m coming back tomorrow.”

.

.

.

.

He tugs his wrinkled shirt over his head as he searches for the words to break the silence, “so I-”

“Why are you here?” They bark instead.

He sighs, reaches for his belt and wallet that managed to land a few feet from the couch, “I missed you.” He murmurs the truth.

“Missed me!?” He hates when they mock his feelings, “or did you miss my ass? My _cock_?”

His head snaps up and finds their red-rimmed eyes, their anger hidden just beneath the fresh tears pooling on their lower lid, “I wanted to speak to you.” He admits sheepishly.

There’s a deep V between their eyebrows, “to lead me on again? To make me believe I had another chance? Or do you get off when you hear me spill my heart out to you? Is that a fucking kink of yours?” They swipe at their nose, shove their toes into a pair of woolen socks. 

The sad part is, they’re not entirely wrong, “not exactly-”

They choke on a sob, continue dressing as swiftly as possible, “superb. So I am just a piece of ass to you.” They say regretfully.

“Harry-”

“Don’t say my fucking name,” he snaps. “Don’t think it either. Don’t think of me!” 

He shakes his head, “it’s not possible! I can’t stay away from you!” And that’s difficult to accept.

“You’re so selfish. You’ve only thought about your needs, your fucking dick, your comfort. What about mine, huh!? What about what you robbed from me?” 

He watches his ex rub at their eyes and struggle to compose himself, witnesses the same heartache that crossed their features the night they broke up- well officially broke up. The weight never lifted from his chest.

“You took my heart with you, left me here in this fucking city while you ran to the other side of the country for work, for lies, for pussy-”

“Fuck you!!” He points his finger in Harry’s direction, bites at his lip to prevent it from trembling. His cheeks flare, “it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. I couldn’t pass it up!”

“And what? The girls were an added _bonus_ !?” Harry drops down onto the sofa half dressed, his composure long gone. “Did you enjoy _working_ them?”

This is the exact topic he wanted to avoid, “okay if you think I went to Los Angeles for women you’re fucking wrong so stop with your self pity shit!” He searches the small, upscale apartment for his winter coat. His anger is surging along with his own tears but he can’t show Harry, he can’t admit how much his decision hurt him too, “I needed a good paying job, I needed to make a name for myself!” He spots the down jacket in the corner, reaches for it.

Harry sobs from the couch, “then why didn’t you bring me with you? Lou, why did you run away from me? Why didn’t you try to make us work!?”

He shoves an arm through a sleeve but stops, “I needed _space_.” He says harshly.

“Fucking space!?” Harry throws a pillow at him, hits him square in the jaw. He ignores it though understanding what would happen if he retaliated, “fuck your space!! I was the one hurting, dealing with your secrets and lies!” He'd probably throw it back and proceed to jump Harry’s bones instead as his apology. 

Bad idea.

“Harry…” He says between gritted teeth, kicks the pillow aside.

“You fucking cheated on me!” The words sting, the truth stings, the reality of his decision burns, “you took the first opportunity you had and fucked some random woman.” 

He shakes his head, “I cheated” -he shoves his other arm through the coat sleeve- “because you were drunk all the time! I felt like I was living alone! I felt alone!” He defends.

“So you ran out on me!? Didn’t give me the chance to get sober!?”

“I gave you too many years!!” He raises his own voice, “and you took that for granted.” He quickly looks for his shoes next. “Thought that I’d deal with your forgetfulness, your priorities which wasn’t our relationship! It was your next chance to get wasted! That was always number one!”

He hears his ex break down for the second time this evening. It’s those choked sobs that always managed to creep their way in, the very distraction to his own anger. It’s what kept him around.

And he also loves him. That’s the issue.

“Y-you don’t understand and you never will! You’re just too horny to fucking see.” 

Louis turns to Harry, finds him crumbled over on the couch in a fetal position. His naked chest is heaving from his sobs, his face smashed into the cushion, his legs curled beneath him. Louis wants to go to him, hold him, hug him. But he can’t. He has to remain adamant, clear-headed.

Well, clearly he wasn’t strong enough because he’s here. And why is that? Why did he seek him out? What was he missing?

“Just get out!! I never want to see you again,” Harry cries.

Louis flinches at the obvious lie, “you don’t mean that.” 

“What if I do? What if it’s exactly what I need!? What if being away from you will keep me sober?”

He zips up his jacket feeling at a loss, “I never-”

“And then you show up here every so often, whenever you’re in town, whenever you’re looking for an easy lay-”

“You kissed me!!” He counters.

“-then you leave me just like this. And then it’s back to square one, back to the bottle, back to my drunken stupor trying to piss away the pain you cause!” 

He drops his head in his hands, “you drank when we had good times, you’re just using my absence as an excuse to continue!” 

“And- and you used my drinking as an excuse to cheat,” Harry stammers. “It was, it was like you found your way to leave me. And you took it, Lou, you fucking took it and ran with it and proved you never loved me!” 

He finally sheds a single tear, swipes at his eye, “that’s not true-”

“ _Yes_ , it is. You don’t love me. You never loved me. You just wanted my ass and wanted to be- to be pleasured and not be alone and- and-” He breaks down again, sobs into the couch. “You hurt me and now I feel alone."

Louis brushes away a few more tears, makes his way over to his ex, and sits before him on the floor. He tentatively places a hand on Harry’s hip, feels the shudder as if the touch pained him. And it pains him too. This entire night gave him far too much grief. 

This entire trip was meant to bring him closure, was meant to end things officially with Harry, maybe check up on his progress but he can’t be responsible anymore. They grew apart. End of story.

So the question remains, why did he allow Harry to kiss him?

“I loved you,” he whispers.

“Th-that's the past tense, Lou. You _loved_ me. You don’t love me still. You just want to satisfy your fucking needs!” Harry pushes him away, lifts off the couch. His face is a deep crimson, his eyes even more bloodshot then before. “Get out.” He growls. “Please! Just let me- I need to forget you.” He sucks in a quivering breath, stands on two unsteady feet, and makes his way across the living room.

Louis is certain he’ll collapse, “where are you going?”

“Getting away from you,” He snivels.

Louis watches his ex stumble towards a small cabinet in the corner, “uh-uh.” He jumps up after the realization hits him, nearly throws himself at Harry. “No!!” 

But his ex is much larger, stronger, fierce when he’s upset and Louis is easily pushed aside, “you don’t own me!!" 

"No, but I still care about you!!" He pleads, "and drinking isn't the answer!" 

Harry reaches for the cabinet anyway, "it's my answer. It's my escape. It's my way to forget you were here." He swipes angrily at his face, "it's my way to avoid another nightmare."

He grimaces, "nightmare? What nightmare?" Louis watches him extend a trembling hand towards the flask holding his drink of choice, scotch-whiskey. 

How can he intervene? What is his argument? 

"What's it matter?" Harry seethes, "you wouldn't give a shit what happened to me." He pours a liberal amount into a crystalline rocks glass. "You couldn't care less how shitty I sleep or how much you've hurt me or how much I fucking think about you!"

Louis' heart stutters in his chest, "I do. Of course I do!"

Harry pushes him away, "fuck you." He stumbles to the couch, practically falls into the cushions. He rests his elbows on his knees, drops his head into his hand, and sighs. He isn't making a move to take a sip which is odd. It's like he's fighting the urge.

"Harry, of course I care about you!" Louis corrects, "I've always cared. We just had our differences, grew apart-"

"And some of us didn't remain faithful," He spits.

Louis rolls his eyes, grips his hair, "stop!"

"No!! I won't! I'll never stop or stop thinking about it or thinking about you or thinking about the night you fucking told me what you did! How you went out with that stupid, waste of space, piece of shit you call a best friend-"

Louis' face flushes, "leave Oli alone!"

"-and met that girl and then well, Louis the rest was history because you came home smelling like her!!" 

He tugs at his coat, finds the down choking him, the heat from his anger making him sweat. He yanks it off, "and I came home to you past out on the kitchen floor! How could you possibly remember what I smelled like!?" 

Harry sips noisily at his drink, "you went out without me. Snuck out! You told me you were going for dinner!!" 

He stares at the top of Harry's head, "We did-"

"And not for dessert," he takes another gulp.

Louis' stare is unwavering, "it was, it wasn't-"

"Wasn't what?" The drink is nearly gone, "good? Was she good? Did she get you off? Did she scream your name? Did she make you feel satisfied?" Harry says, his tone clipped. "Did you choose the right hole? Or did you fuck both!?"

He turns away feeling at a loss because it wasn't good. It was a mistake. It was the shittiest thing he could have done or will ever do. Ultimately, that's why he ended it. He couldn't live with his choice, "the perfume was pungent." He says instead to hide his distress. 

"God!!!" Harry drops the emptied glass to the carpeted floor, stands abruptly, "why are you here?" He glances at Louis with misty eyes. "Why are you really here!?" 

He shrugs, "I told you-"

"Answer. The. Question," Tears fall freely down Harry's reddened cheeks. 

"I told you," He repeats. "To check up-"

Harry folds his arms across his chest, "Save it and leave!" 

Louis finds his shoes, "fine." He resigns and slips them on, tugs his coat on again. This was his last opportunity and he blew it. So much for closure. "Bye." So much for Harry's progress.

Maybe his ex is right? Maybe Harry's better without him?

"Good riddance," He barks.

But Louis doesn't turn around. Instead he makes his way to the door with his head held high and tears at bay. He'll have his own breakdown at his Airbnb, maybe get drunk to forget too, possibly sniff at the collar of his own shirt that undoubtedly smells of his ex. 

He groans despite himself. Was he really looking for closure or was that just an excuse? Was this entire meeting meant to test his own limits? Prove that he's over Harry? Well, then he failed because this is hurting more than he expected.

He reaches for the door handle-

.

.

.

.

“You have to smudge your name first, dope!” Louis takes the plastic forks from Harry’s hand, “it’s good luck.”

Harry giggles, swipes his finger through the buttercream, “or else what? I’ll have bad luck for the rest of the year?” 

Louis shakes his head, “no! _For life_.” He annunciates, “can’t risk it.” He hands the fork back to Harry.

“Well, I’m good! See?” Harry tilts the box towards him revealing his smooshed name.

Louis nods his approval, “good. Now let’s dig in!”

Harry takes the first bite, savors in the flavor, the texture, the taste. It _is_ good, “so remember when you came last year?” he reminisces, “unannounced?” 

“I do! I also remember getting yelled at and the door being slammed in my face.” Louis reminds as he takes his own healthy portion of cake.

Harry finishes chewing, chooses his words carefully before speaking, “I was afraid.” He admits.

Louis freezes mid chew, “why?” 

He watches his friend, his friend who he has a slight crush on, “because…” 

“That explains nothing. Tell me why you were afraid,” Louis remains adamant, his tone demanding.

He takes a large helping of butter cream, “No one ever brought me cake before. Especially a classmate. Especially someone-” he shoves the fork into his mouth, “like you.” His voice is garbled. 

Louis shoves him, “huh? Say that again?” 

His cheeks flush, his arm and thigh tingle where they're touching, “like you. Someone like you.” He repeats.

“Like me?” He quickly turns to his friend, finds his blue eyes lost in thought. He seems nonplussed by his confession, “I see. Well, Harry it was my pleasure. Remember? I wanted to apologize to you. It wasn’t right what those kids did and you needed to be reminded of that,” Louis continues to eat then.

His heart flutters, “yeah I mean I was only eating a banana.”

“Harry! The way to not eat a banana, never make eye contact with anyone,” Louis chuckles. “And there you were mindlessly chomping away at your banana, staring blankly at the douchiest kid in the lunchroom.”

His palms begin to sweat, “I wasn’t watching anyone.” He says, “I was thinking.” 

Louis takes more cake, “about?”

He does the same, scoops up some of the banana pastry cream, “things, you know?”

“I don’t know because you’re not telling me anything. Harry, it’s over a year ago! Just tell me. We’re cool, we’re friends, we’re bro-pals!” Louis nudges him again and his cheeks redden further.

“I know. But it’s still embarrassing!” Harry explains, “it was wrong.” He giggles at the thought because it was ridiculous. 

Louis huffs, “you’re lame.”

“Maybe I am. But you can be lame with me,” Harry gazes at his friend, takes in his side profile, finds a small hint of his beard growing in. He imagines how it would feel against his palm. The thought of kissing his friend quickly came and went.

Louis turns to him then too, nearly startles him from his fantasy, “I don’t mind actually.” Louis places the box next to him, inches closer. 

Harry’s breath quickens, “even- even when you go to college? Can we still be lame?” The words tumble from his mouth.

Louis smiles wide, “of course! Maybe you can bring a cake for _my_ birthday.” He instinctively moves closer to his friend, “I like mint chocolate chip.”

His eyes never waver, “ice cream cake?”

“Of course!” Louis places his fork in the box, “what other option would there be?”

He shrugs, smirks, “of course. I’ll bring whipped cream too.”

“Even better!”

“We’ll have to wait for winter break though,” he reminds, with reluctance.

Louis’ face falls, “well, yeah dude. I’ll be home already.”

“Yeah,” he frowns, “what I meant was I could never surprise you the way you surprised me.”

Louis quickly glances away, “oh.”

He clears his throat, “w-well, yeah you see my mom won’t let me travel to Chicago alone, you know?” 

“Ah, yes,” Louis chuckles, “I understand. It’s far.”

“It is,” he reiterates. “So far! Why would you pick that city? It’s so cold in the winter.” He shivers into his coat at the thought.

“Not sure,” Louis bites at his lip, “I guess I wanted a change of scenery.”

A dreadful thought comes to mind, “or to escape certain people?” he diverts his attention to his linked fingers. 

“Nah, this town is boring. Chicago is exciting and fun and hip.”

He snorts, “Hip!? Who even says that!?”

“Oh shush! Many kids do! You’re just not paying attention,” Louis knocks their knees together, gives his heart another jolt of hope.

“Nah, I’m sure people don’t use it,” his smile quickly fades. 

“Maybe…”

Silence falls over them. 

So he thinks a little bit, thinks of his next few words, figures if he gets it over with now maybe the rejection won’t hurt as much. What’s there to lose? Louis' going away.

But he’ll lose a very important friendship so he can’t. He can’t kiss Louis. Maybe he can say it’s a thank you though! Girls kiss on the cheek all the time! Why can’t he kiss Louis and accidentally find his mouth? 

Boys don’t do that though. Bro pals don’t kiss.

He slumps back into the bench in defeat, reminds himself over and over that it’s a shit idea to kiss his friend. Boys don’t kiss anyway.

Unless they like one another.

He releases the death grip on his fingers, glances at Louis who is already watching him? “What?” he asks.

Louis shrugs, “you got all quiet. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah why wouldn’t I be?” He rushes out defensively.

“You have that faraway look in your eye, the same one you had when you were eating the banana.”

He flushes, “oh, I do?”

“You do,” his friend confirms, “are you thinking about whatever it was that’s too embarrassing?”

“No- yes?” He puffs his cheeks, “maybe.”

Louis nudges him again, “tell me!!”

He grips his fingers, “no it’s so embarrassing and I don’t want to make an ass out of myself in front of you.”

“Harry, you’ve done much worse in front of me. Trust me,” Louis reminds.

He masks his face, “Ugh, can we not talk about the unfortunate mishaps of dear little Harry?” 

“Oh I absolutely have to!” Louis turns towards him then, touches his shoulder. He nearly collapses into him. “Like when you tripped up the steps and gave half the student body a show?” 

He grimaces, “yah?”

“Or when you walked into that opened locker?” 

He drops his head in his hands because Louis was the one he was looking at when it happened, “I still have a scar.” 

“The sound echoed throughout the hallway!” Louis chuckles.

He rolls his eyes, “yeah I remember. I was there.”

“Or when-”

He places his hand over Louis’ mouth to shush him, “I get it.” But he remains steady, doesn’t remove his hand quick enough, and searches Louis’ eyes instead. “I, I uh-” He quickly drops his arm. “Sorry.”

Louis touches his cheek where Harry's hand was, “th-that- it’s okay,” Louis brushes it off, “you wanted me to shut up. Didn’t mean to go that far.” 

“W-well, well Louis I-”

“And I didn’t mean to embarrass you or make you feel bad or uncomfortable. I just wanted you to feel better you know? Like, not by laughing but-” he watches Louis ramble, finds his own confidence surging, “-and yeah I wanted to befriend you I suppose, make you feel welcomed.”

He smiles, “you did.” He inches closer.

“After quite the battle,” Louis says, “damn you’re stubborn.”

He nods, “I am.” He scoots closer, allows their legs to touch once more.

“So stubborn!” Their eyes meet, “and such a baby.”

“I’ve been known to be,” he licks his lips. 

“I can vouch for that because damn, you made it hard,” Louis glances at his lips then back into his eyes. 

He nods, “I was afraid.”

“You said that,” his friend whispers, “and I wish you’d tell me why.”

“I…” he drapes his arm across the back of the bench, accidentally touches Louis’ shoulder.

“Oh,” his friend, although Harry’s sure they’re not friends anymore, chokes. What if they're enemies? 

“M-maybe, maybe this will help explain-” he closes his eyes, prays Louis does the same and kisses him before he changes his mind. He lingers just long enough, tastes the hint of banana on Louis’ lips, then releases gently. “Th-that, um came out of left field and I don’t know why I did it.” He places his arm back in his lap, faces forward. 

“Thanks for making the first move,” Louis says, eventually.

“Sorry,” he mumbles anyway.

Louis shakes his head, “don’t be.”

“Really?” Harry questions, “you don’t mind?”

His friend smiles, “no, I don’t.” 

“That’s good,” Harry giggles. "Very good actually."

“It is,” Louis agrees. 

He stands up then, “come inside?” He asks.

Louis’ eyes widen, “really?”

“Yeah, I want- let’s search my mother’s liquor cabinet and make it a real celebration.”

“Oh!” Louis stands too, looks to his bike, “just a sip. I need to ride home.”

“Sure,” Harry takes Louis’ hand, “come on!”

.

.

.

.

Harry's watching his ex boyfriend walk away for the fourth- wait no, the fifth. The tenth? How many times has Louis walked out of his life? How many times has his heart been ripped to shreds? Why can't he get over it already? It's obvious Louis is only interested in getting some then quickly leaving before they have an opportunity to fix things, to maybe progress past the arguments.

Maybe Louis doesn't want to fix things then.

Oh. 

Harry notices Louis' steps are small, tentative, hesitant even. It's possible he doesn't want to leave though, it's possible he wants to make things work but maybe on his terms. It's possible Louis loves him! But its also possible Harry is too hopeful, too confused, too fucking gone for a man who can't handle his quirkiness and drinking problem.

But who can? Will he find someone who will? Why does the thought of being with someone else pain him more than this? He doesn't want anyone else, that's why. And he can't stand it!

Louis _cannot_ walk away from him!

"No!!" He cries out the moment Louis reaches for the door, "you can't leave." 

Louis shakes his head, holds the handle with a white knuckled grip, "You told me to and honestly I think it's for the best." Harry's heart sinks, his eyes continue to release more tears. "We'll end up doing something we both will regret."

He approaches his ex, "we already have. What else could possibly be worse than that?"

Louis glances his way, reveals his own bloodshot eyes and downturned lips, "there's plenty more that can be done and more so said, Harry."

He shakes his head, wraps his arms around his torso to relieve a sudden chill, "like what then? Say it!" His anger surges. "Or better yet-" 

Going against his better judgement and using the small amount of alcohol as his driving force, he grips Louis' shoulders and nearly throws him against the wall. Louis' eyes are wide, his mouth propped open from shock, his body trembling just beneath Harry's fingertips. 

He almost feels sorry. But suddenly he's thinking of his own needs, of his own horniness, of his own heart and he can't allow Louis to win this fight.

 _Not again_.

So Harry lowers his head towards his ex's face, presses Louis into the wall with his own body weight, stares longingly into a set of blue irises that manage to haunt him and not only when he's asleep. They're everywhere. They're on every face. They're around every corner. They're always in his thoughts and fantasies and on the other men he's managed to pick up. It doesn't matter. He can't escape.

He's trapped in that daydream and still eating that fucking banana.

He glances at Louis' lips next, nearly caves right then as the thought of them touching behind his ear crosses his mind. He's always loved it, always begged for it, always prayed Louis would put him out of his misery and just kiss him. But it was the suspension, the foreplay leading up to that moment, the gnawing hunger in his groin that begged to be satiated. He needed it.

And he needs it now.

"We shouldn't," Louis whispers the moment Harry comes within inches of his face. 

"Why?" Harry reaches for his stubbled cheek, brushes any lingering fringe off his brow. 

Louis squirms, sighs heavily, "because we fucked and it only ended with us fighting again. It's best we remain apart." But his body language is telling Harry otherwise, his dilated pupils giving his attraction away. The evidence is written in his expression. 

Harry leans further in, presses his lips to Louis' ear, whispers softly, "I want to feel you after you leave. I want to be reminded of where you've been, feel the ghost of your touch on my skin, feel your breath on my cheek." Louis gasps, "I want to feel that sting of regret so maybe when I awake tomorrow I'll finally realize we're over and pray it sinks in this time."

Louis gulps, "you'll regret it either way. You'll blame me. You'll kiss me, beg me to fuck you, then ask me why I'm still here. Is that what you want? Is this what you _want_?" His tone is biting, accusatory.

Harry whimpers, nearly collapses, feels his vibrato wane, "you're all I want damnit! You're all I will ever want or need. Fuck, it'll always be you! And I hate that truth. I hate who I've become, how obsessed I am with the thought of us still being together, of what we were knowing you don't love-" he grips Louis' shoulder, sinks his fingers into the material of the down jacket. He sobs in Louis' face, releases his anguish. He's so lost, conflicted. "L-Louis please I can't go on without you. I need you in my life." 

Louis finally touches him back, drapes his arms across Harry's shoulders, pulls him close. It's the same way they used to hug, the same positioning of his hands. It's all too much, too real, too fucking good. 

He can't help but break down all over again, "p-please. Please just kiss me? Please relieve my grief? Please just-"

They're kissing then, kissing with that same passion they used to, kissing as if their lives depended on it. It's sloppy and rushed, harsh even, frenzied. They're making out in the small entryway of Harry's apartment just the way they used to, just the way they did before.

Just the way he’s dreamt about.

He reaches for Louis' coat, implores him to remove it so they're closer, so their bodies can properly touch. It's all he wants, to feel Louis' bare chest against his. He doesn't want to think of the consequences or what he'll undoubtedly feel the moment they're finished. 

The moment he climaxes that is.

Harry unzips his exes coat, practically rips it free, and moves to his t-shirt next. He's guided by his excitement, his desire, his opportunity to be intimate with Louis and it's burning him from the inside-out. He tugs at the flimsy cotton, pulls it up and off, and throws it to the ground without a care. Harry reconnects their mouths and continues where they left off, sucks at Louis' lips and tongue. 

This is his paradise. This is his drug. This is Harry's nightmare.

Right here, in Louis' arms.

.

.

.

.

Louis pushes back, skims his fingers along the waistband of Harry's sweats. He wants to remove them, he wants to feel the rest of him, he wants to feel anything besides the anger he has residing within his heart. 

But he knows this isn't the answer to his problems. This will only cause more issues for him, for them and he can't allow Harry to overtake his emotions like this! Again? A second time in one night? 

Usually he’s in control. Usually he's smarter. Usually he fucks his ex and leaves before Harry manages to finish his second drink. But something changed tonight. He felt something more than he used to, he felt the magnitude of Harry's words, felt the connection because he could relate to some degree.

Louis needs him in his life, too.

Louis needs him more than he will ever care to admit. It will prove he was wrong about their future and the potential of what they could have become. He's ruined it now, placed that doubt on Harry, that insecurity of Louis being unfaithful even though it only happened one time. That one night where he was so upset with Harry, so fucking angered towards him because the topic of marriage was brought up. Marriage and children. Marriage and children and the job opportunity in California. Marriage, children, new job, and alcohol. An abundance of alcohol.

He needed an out and he took the easiest one.

He continues to kiss Harry, gives him what Louis wants as well, reciprocates the feverish moves and touches. They're slowly moving through the apartment, shedding the remaining clothing they're both wearing, stripping their barriers once more.

Harry tastes of whiskey and fresh tears, smells of faint lemon and a tinge of sandalwood. The combination is expected actually especially the tears since it seems as of late, when they do get close, Harry is usually crying. The lemon is new though. The lemon is a mystery to him.

Louis pushes it all aside, leads him across the heavy carpet towards the sofa, towards their final destination. He'll be in control a second time in one night, feel worse than he does already, probably really cry and expose his emotions. 

He's fucking up again right?

They hit the edge of the couch, topple backwards into the plush cushions, their teeth knocking into one another as they make contact. They can't seem to separate, their willpower has dissipated to nothing. It disintegrated along with their hearts actually.

Louis' fingers land in Harry's soft curls, massage his scalp, and tug at the strands as Harry hits a sensitive spot, the very base of his spine. He shivers at the sensations coursing through him, delves deeper into his ex's mouth, pulls harshly at his lower lip. It was all too much before. Now it's another taste of poison.

Another helping he should have passed up.

Oh! But he can't stop now! How? He's sitting astride Harry's legs, thrusting his hips forward, rocking back and forth. He can't keep still or think past this moment, can't stop moving his fucking hips along his ex's arousal!

Louis moans against Harry's mouth, nearly releases on his torso, and thighs, expresses himself through his actions. And isn't it obvious? Isn't it evident how bad Louis needs him? How bad he fucked up, too?

And why are these emotions resurfacing? Didn't he come here on a mission? To find his closure, to find his peace? To find something beyond this love that's choking him? 

Harry's hands are pressed to his ass, his fingers kneading and tugging him deeper into the moment, kissing and pulling and groping and feeling and fondling and-

Harry pulls away suddenly, rests their foreheads together, expels a heavy breath, "Louis." His voice is strained, filled with tears and longing, "baby." 

Louis bites at his bottom lip, thanks the heavens his face is somewhat obscured. He instinctively tightens his hold, "why the pet name?" He asks to distract his brain.

"Slipped," Harry trails his hands up his spine towards his shoulder blades.

His mind scrambles, "oh." But why did Harry say it? He hasn't called him baby since the night they broke up and even then it was painful to hear. "Having second thoughts?" He asks instead.

"No," His ex grips him closer, shakes his head. "I'll never tire of you or turn down the chance to be with you." 

Louis' heart stutters and not from pleasure. Oh no, this is regret, "isn't that unfortunate?"

"You being here is the unfortunate part, Lou," Harry snaps. "You coming to my doorstep at your leisure is the unfortunate part!" His fingernails dig into Louis' skin, his hold fierce and filled with rage. 

Louis' eyes well, threaten to spill tears, "it wasn't meant to get this far!" He releases Harry's curls, pushes at his chest to be released. But it's no use. He's trapped. 

"But it has! Because you kissed me!" 

"You begged me! You begged-" Harry pushes him harshly to the floor forcing him onto his back. His breath hitches as he makes contact, "what the fuck!?" He eyes his ex, notes his soaked cheeks and chewed lips. Louis can only guess that was his doing.

"You were supposed to be the strong one!" Harry points a finger at him condescendingly, "you were meant to turn _me_ _down_!" 

He shakes his head, clenches his jaw, "I guess I have a weakness." 

"And what? Now I'm your weakness!? Me? The man you cheated on? The lover you hurt for your own-"

"Fuck you!!" Louis shouts. He scrambles to his feet, kicks away the emptied rocks glass, stomps to his rumpled clothes scattered across the floor. "I've had it. I've fuckin had it!" 

"Oh, pu- _lease_ Louis. You've had it!? What about me? You're the one who continues showing up here looking to get your dick rubbed!!" Harry's voice is close, closer, too close! 

Louis fears if he turns around he'll find him standing there completely bare assed and fully erect. And that would be the end of him, "I've told you. I came to check up on your progress!" He begins to dress once more, "you're the one who fucking kissed me, begged for me, begged me! You're having delusions of why I'm showing up here when I just want to make sure you're not lying in a drunken stupor." 

He hears the choked sob, the hitched breaths, the rubbing of hands, "you're the worst fucking liar." 

Louis refrains from rolling his eyes, "sure." He is. 

Okay? He admits it.

To himself.

"You are. You're lying through your teeth that's why you're leaving! You're running away from your problems just like before!" Harry shouts at his back.

He refuses to turn around. He'll fall again, he will. He'll give in.

Louis sucks in a deep breath, "don't make this about me fucking up, _Harry_. You've done plenty to drive me away! So take your pettiness and stick em up your ass!" He tugs on his sneaker. 

Harry's silent though.

"You've always managed to blame me for your issues, for your drinking, for your lack of confidence!" He quickly stands, zips up his coat, refuses to turn towards his ex, "but it became too much! I was tired of feeling like your fucking pin cushion and punching bag!!" He swallows back a sob as he makes his way to the door once more.

"So that's it then. You're just going to go? Turn your back on ten years? Turn your back on your mistake?" Harry's tone is accusatory, filled with his rage, "because surely that must be it? I was _your_ mistake?" Louis stops, groans through his teeth, grips his cropped hair. "You asked me out! You came to my house, stood on my stoop and like a damn moron, forcing yourself upon me! I knew I should have listened to my heart and turned you down!!" 

"You kissed me!!" He growls, pulls at the handle, swings the door wide open without thinking of Harry's nudity and storms into the hallway.

"You'll be back!" Louis hears as he hurries down the hallway, "you'll want that second-"

The door slams closed.

.

.

.

.

The whiskey bottle is lying empty next to his hand on the counter. He poured himself three- no four glasses, took in it's contents and dumped it in the sink. Every time. He didn't take a sip. Then he emptied the remaining of the alcohol down the drain having no desire to be trapped in a drunken stupor.

He wants to feel the pain.

He wants to remind himself how crooked his emotional state is once his ex leaves him. He has to convince his fucking heart what it needs and Louis isn’t it. He needs the separation, the reality check, not a bandaid to cover the cracks in his heart. The alcohol is his temporary fix, his escape from the harshness of the situation.

And it’s pathetic.

He’s pathetic. He allows himself to get so wrapped up in this man he loses sight of his own needs, his own desires, caves into his demons and gives himself willingly over to Louis like a moth drawn to a flame. He’s pulled so easily too. It doesn’t take much.

He just relives those moments of pure bliss, of pure innocent love, of uncontrolled fucking and he’s sold. His body, heart, and mind. Any semblance of power he thought he possessed fizzles away into nothing. He becomes so weak.

He slams his hand down on the counter, “fuck!!”

Harry would kiss the very ground Louis walked on and hand himself over and allow anything, give anything he is able, share anything! He wants Louis to take it!

Take it all.

“Why?” he cries, “why do you do this to me?” He loses feeling in his knees, collapses into the counter. “Why do I love you?” 

.

.

.

.

He knocks on the door, “Harry!!” He clutches the box to his chest, “come on I’ve got class!”

“Coming!” He hears his boyfriend stumbling around, “give me one sec!”

He rolls his eyes, “in this century-” the door swings open revealing a flush faced, unruly curled, half naked Harry, “hi.”

“Baby!!” Harry reaches for his hand and drags him inside the small single dorm room, “so happy you’re here.” He’s led over to the bed.

“I told you I was coming,” He reminds, “before class since I have a scrimmage later.”

Harry plops down, pats the mattress, “maybe you can skip class and spend the afternoon in bed with me?” His boyfriend waggles his eyebrows.

He sits down, places the box next to him, “I can’t-”

Harry pounces him then, reaches for his t-shirt and skims his fingers along his lower back. He whimpers, kisses back instantly, tastes the remnants of- 

Louis pulls away, “God damn it!” 

“What?” Harry gasps, “what happened?”

“You drank,” Louis accuses, “you’re fucking hammered.”

Harry smirks, lunges for Louis again, “it’s my birthday!” 

He dodges those lips though, “no!” He grunts, “I don’t give a shit! It’s not even noon!!” 

“I know. I wanted to get a head start before my party later,” Harry is smiling, fucking smiling!!

His blood is boiling, “real mature, Harry. Real, fucking, mature.”

Harry pouts, “I wanna have a good time.”

“I wanted to celebrate with you before your drunk fest. I wanted to have a few minutes with you sober,” he finds his boyfriend’s reddened eyes. “Why do you have to ruin it?”

Harry frowns, “it’s my birthday…” he repeats.

He can feel the heat in his cheeks, “I don’t care. You knew I was coming.”

“I know but I wanted to celebrate the way I wanted!”

He growls, “why couldn’t you give me one afternoon, one fucking hour, one-”

“I wanna have birthday sex!” Harry pulls Louis towards him, “take my undies off with your teeth and suck me off!”

“Ugh…” Louis reluctantly falls onto his boyfriend, “you need to have your cake first.” Harry reaches for his neck, begins delicately sucking on his skin. The pungent smell of liquor makes him shudder, pulls him back to reality because he can’t get into this, “Harry…” He pulls away.

“What!?” 

Louis disregards his erection, points to the box, “the cake.”

“You and this stupid cake!” Harry runs a hand down his face, “when will you stop?”

“Never. It’s our tradition,” He pops open the lid. “Now smudge your name.”

His boyfriend rolls his eyes, “can I smudge it with my dick?”

“No! Use your finger,” Louis scolds.

“I want birthday head,” Harry leans over, smudges the cake. He sticks his finger in Louis’ face, “lick it.”

He eyes the buttercream, “can you stop?” 

“Babe! I want to have sex. I want to make out. I want you to suck my-”

He stands quickly, hides his erection, “I have class.” 

“B-but I want to have a lazy afternoon!!” 

“And I wanted you sober, Harry but you managed to fuck that up!”

“It’s one time-”

“No it’s not. It’s not the point. Why can’t you control yourself?” Louis’ anger subsides, but it’s easily replaced with concern, “you’re scaring me.”

Harry watches him closely, “why?” The question is simple.

A simple question that’s digging into Louis’ heart, “I come here and you’re drinking before noon. I come to visit and you’re once again depending on alcohol to have a good time. Why can’t you just not drink for one weekend? Maybe consider my feelings for once?”

Harry hesitates, “I’m only having fun. It’s college. That’s what kids do. Drink. Act stupid. Be reckless.” 

“You act stupid every weekend.”

“You can’t drink because of soccer so don’t put this on me!”

“No! It’s because I choose to not act out on my reckless impulses! I reign it in, drink occasionally, remain sober when necessary and here you are sipping away at your whiskey as if you don’t have responsibilities!” He approaches the bed, “you have class today. I was coming. We had plans-”

“And my party!”

He drops his head in his hands, “and your stupid party.”

The bed dips and soon Harry is sitting next to him, “it’s not stupid. _You’re_ stupid. You’re so demanding.” His boyfriend shoves him backwards onto the mattress, straddles his hips. “Loosen up.”

He stares up into his boyfriend’s hooded eyes, “you need to keep your drinking in check, Harry.”

Harry comes within inches of his face, “and you need my dick in your mouth.” 

“You’re not listening to me,” Louis turns away.

“Nope, I’m not,” Harry begins kissing his neck once more.

He closes his eyes, “wonderful,” he whispers and relents.

Once more.

.

.

.

.

“Why…” He’s lying on the couch facing the ceiling, "why can't my stupid brain accept it? Why can't I move on-" _knock knock_ "-huh?" His body jolts at the sound. _Knock_ _knock_. "Who could that be?" He hesitates a moment contemplating if he should answer or not. He's not in any mood for guests, his appearance is less than savory, his attitude sour after dumping his supply of alcohol down the drain. He can't function if he's honest. 

_Knock knock_. It comes again, this time with more urgency. 

"Ugh!!" He tugs at his curls, reluctantly stands and heads to the door, "what!!" He shouts then proceeds to swing it open-

And his pulse quickens, his forehead breaks into a cold sweat, his fingers go numb. His eyes begin to tear instantly because it's the most gut wrenching yet most beautiful sight before him.

"But wh-why?" He swipes at his nose, finds Louis in the hallway with a bakery box, and two doe eyes. 

"I couldn't forget your birthday cake," Louis' voice is small, hushed, saddened even. "It's our tradition."

Harry shakes his head in denial, takes a step back, "it's _yours_ . Not _ours_." He corrects.

"Well- yeah," Louis remains in the hallway, shifts his weight.

"So why come back? Why did-"

His ex pushes past him, "you have to smudge your name and make a wish."

He slams the door shut, "Louis, I can't do this right now."

"It'll be quick," Louis pops open the lid. "It's your favorite flavor." He shows Harry the yellow icing and the simple _Happy B-day_ _Harry_ Louis piped crudely with buttercream. 

"I don't care," he crosses his arms over his chest, remains a few feet away, disregards the flurry of longing in his abdomen. "You shouldn't be here."

"You're right but I am anyway," Louis glances his way through impossibly long eyelashes. _Fuck_. "I wanted to bring you this."

"You could have left it at my door," he quickly looks away ashamed of his emotions. 

"I had to make sure you smudged your name."

He snorts, "you still don't trust that I'd do it on my own? Make my wish? Maybe wish that you'd stop _showing_ up here and leading me the fuck on?" His tone is clipped. 

His ex approaches slowly, comes within inches of his naked torso. He should have put a shirt on, "I would never do such a thing." 

"I've had it with your shit!" He snaps, finally makes eye contact with the one man who captured his heart. It's too painful. Too easy. Too close. "Leave." He manages through gritted teeth. "Leave and let me mourn my loss? Let me grieve!" 

"It's funny," his ex starts, "how you continue to play the victim, how my own feelings meant nothing, how your own selfishness continues to blind you and overpowers everything else!"

"Louis!" He cries.

"You're grieving and what am I doing, huh!? What the fuck am I doing!!" His ex shouts back, "because apparently my emotions have no value to you and never have!"

His eyes well with more tears, "what are you trying to do to me?"

"To prove there were two sides to this story. _Two_!!" Louis is in his face, practically nose to nose with him, so close he wants to shove the man into the table and fuck him stupid. "And my side is just as important as yours." 

But he refrains, keeps his hands to himself, reminds his impulses what his heart is unable to withstand, "you left me, Louis. You made it clear when you cheated. You left me in tears, insecure, and alone in this city to fend for myself while you-"

"Moved across the country for _work_!"

"Fucked around!!" Harry counters. Louis grips his bare shoulders, digs his fingernails into his skin, "get off!" He pushes away immediately. "Don't you dare touch me!"

"Stop saying I fucked around like a slut! I'm not some horny bastard looking for a piece of ass-"

"Or _pussy_ ," he seethes, swipes at his wet cheeks.

Louis' face is red, "no!!" He stamps his foot defiantly. "Stop assuming things that are completely false! I moved to California for work!"

Harry stumbles to the couch, "I don't believe you." He chokes. "I don't believe a word that comes out of that mouth! You've told me so many lies!"

"When!?" Louis follows closely behind, "when have I lied? I've only been honest with you! Exposed myself to you! Admitted when I was wrong!" 

"You showing up here time and time again, Lou," he flops down, masks his face with his hands. "You're lying to me. You're not just checking up on me. You're here for your needs not mine. My needs were never in your thoughts. It was only about-"

"You," Louis interjects, grips his curls, and tugs his head back. "Everything was about you." He points.

.

.

.

.

He wanted to be firm, direct, adamant but his body betrays him often, when he least expects it to, when he's at his weakest. And right now? Well, he's never been this out of control. 

Louis' staring into his exes reddened eyes, taking in flushed cheeks and lips, the sweated curls on his forehead, the bare chest. It's too overwhelming. _Mistake_. He'll only be disappointed in the end. 

He lowers his head, "nothing's changed. You're still as selfish as ever."

"I'm not-"

"You are," he releases Harry's hair, quickly sheds his coat. "Always will be." He straddles his ex's hips, follows his impulses and desire. It's too late for him. 

And Harry too apparently because he made no attempt to move, "no," his ex whispers. "No, you're the one who- you lied to- you show up here to-"

He hooks his arms around Harry's neck, "see you, to touch you, to remind myself why I left when I'm feeling helpless," he manages. He closes his eyes, awaits the stale scent of alcohol. "So helpless and alone and confused?" He inches closer to his ex boyfriend, seeks out those lips he's missed. 

"Confused?" He hears, "why?" His voice is just a faint whisper.

Louis takes a deep breath, continues to anticipate the whiskey, "whether I should stay, mend things, maybe- just maybe-" He finds Harry's lips and all is lost, him included, his mind, his body, his control, his willpower, his everything.

He can't manage these impulses or the need to be close, to touch someone familiar and warm. It's the memories, the reasons he stayed for so long, the attempt to salvage a doomed relationship. He can't simply walk away and he understands that now.

And kissing Harry? Well that certainly was unintentional and definitely not part of his plan. Ultimately, he did want to end things, give him the birthday cake, say his goodbyes and wish his ex well. But something's are worth fighting for, he supposes. Including this, including-

There's no alcohol. His brain registers. Harry's sober? What the fuck does he taste?

Louis breaks away then in disbelief, eyes his ex skeptically, "you're not drunk." The words fly from his mouth, "you're always drunk, you're- you-" he shakes his head, "you're never sober when I-"

Harry licks his lips, stares back, waits another moment before crashing their mouths together and continuing where they left off. 

He's holding on so tight, tasting a set of lips he will never cease to tire of, thrusts his hips forward in anticipation. There's too much to explore, too many crevices and bits of skin his fingers have yet to touch, too much his brain can't handle it. He's too excited, too surprised, too enthralled that he forgot his own shirt! 

He pulls away quickly, grips the hem of his t-shirt and yanks it off, nearly topples back into Harry like a lifeline, like this moment is in his dreams- or maybe he is dreaming. He thinks as he continues to kiss his ex. Maybe this is all a dream and he's back in his Airbnb sleeping on the sofa. 

But Harry's hands are unmistakable, his movements too real and toying with the waistband on his jeans, fighting the stiff material and belt to push through. 

And he wants it, bad. _So bad_. 

He groans aloud, kisses his way down Harry's throat towards the back of his ear, the very place that drives him wild. He doesn't hold back, sucks harshly at the unblemished skin, savors in the soft moans escaping Harry's pink mouth and gentle fingers that managed to make their way through.

"T-take these off," Harry begs, "off!!" 

Louis instantaneously rolls off Harry's lap and onto the couch, rips at the belt and button, fumbles with frenzied fingers, "fuck, fuck, fuck!" He cries. He can't concentrate especially with his ex now completely nude and erect. His forehead pearls with sweat at the sight, his mind scrambles, "it's stuck!" He fights the leather belt.

"Lemme do it," Harry's nimble fingers work it open, pull the zipper and eases the strain on his swollen crotch. 

He sighs towards the ceiling, "thanks." He pulls the denim down his legs and kicks them away, swipes at his brow, "so I-" Louis' tugged back onto Harry's lap before he's able to complete his thought, " _Oh_." He squeaks, stares longingly into his ex's face, watches for any sign of anger, regret, discomfort. Anything. "You're sober." He manages.

Harry glances away, "I only had the one drink earlier." He places his hands on Louis' rear, sighs heavily, "I couldn't do it."

"Why?" He reaches between the couch cushions.

Harry shrugs, "I guess I wanna feel the ache when you're gone, realize what…" he sniffles, "realize what I lost."

Louis grips the small bottle and pulls it free, "we both lost." 

"We're a lose-lose situation," Harry takes the lube from him, pops the lid.

"Maybe," he loops his arms around his ex's neck once more, holds him closer than intended, "maybe that's why we worked for so long?"

Harry only shrugs once as if uncertain, sniffles back more tears, "maybe it's why we couldn't last." He squeezes the liquid free, places his hand on the back of Louis' thigh.

"I-" he chokes, "I um…" 

"Save it," Harry whispers and kisses him gently on the mouth.

He concentrates on their slow movements, the swipe of his tongue, the pull of Harry's lips, his gentle touches across Harry's back. Louis has forgotten how gentle this Harry could be, how passionate and loving, how fucking perfect. 

And how rarely he saw this side even after so much time. He was deprived of the mutual fondling and kindness, starved of affection and care, exposed to a side of Harry he never knew existed.

So it's like he's with a stranger. A stranger he'll never meet again.

He moves to the back of Harry's ear once more, takes advantage of this moment before it passes, trembles at the touches on his rear. 

"You still have the prettiest ass," Harry says between hushed groans, "always, always the prettiest." He pulses his hips in response, continues kissing his way across his ex's neck, nearly chokes on his tongue at the swell of pressure in his lower back. "I've missed it." 

He releases his lips, "H-have, have ya?" He rests his forehead on Harry's shoulder.

"Yeah."

"Oh," he squeaks at the stinging, the push-pull sensation, the finger that's working him. It's been a while. He relaxes his muscles, his legs, his mind- 

"I'll never tire of it either," push and pull. Push and pull. "And you too, Louis." Harry's voice is soft, sensual, pointed. "I'll never tire of you."

A second finger finds its way in; the pressure builds, his erection swells with desire as it rubs against Harry's torso. It's begging for attention, it's screaming to be stroked, his libido is climbing so high he's unable to think straight. 

He flexes his hips, thrusts himself into Harry, tightens his hold with such vigor. His emotions are boiling over, exposing themselves in a moment of weakness, conveying his burning desire to be close with his ex. 

He's revealing it all, exposing his truths, uncovering his wishes. Louis' lost his composure and then some.

.

.

.

.

If he just continues on and withholds his unease, maybe he'll be able to get through this without breaking down, just maybe. Hold it in for Louis. Hold. It. In! But how can he possibly suppress his desires and needs and wants and pleasure? How can he ignore the fact that Louis is in his arms, moaning? Gripping onto Harry as if he actually wants this?

Like he actually wants Harry?

Does he? Has he been holding back? Lying some more? Harry's thoughts turn sour, his fingers grip vigorously onto Louis' hip as his anger intensifies. Lying about his feelings? Lying about who he's been bedding? Because he's certainly not fucking around with men. He's far too snug. Too snug and squirming. 

Harry noticed it immediately, felt the resistance the moment he found his way in, heard the discomfort in Louis' sighs and moans. He's not a fool.

His fingers work as they usually do, widen and scissor, move swiftly and with precision, "why so snug?" He asks unexpectedly.

"It's, it's been a while," Louis whispers against his skin.

"How so? Spending too much time with _females_?" He spits. 

Louis shakes his head, thrusts himself against Harry's chest in warning, "fuck off." He inserts a third finger in retaliation, "ah!" His partner gasps and that only proves his point. Louis lifts his head, finds his gaze, reveals red cheeks and chewed lips, "stop assuming things!" 

He's working methodically, carefully, "I know a liar when I see one." He releases Louis' thigh, wraps his arm around his torso.

His ex's eyes well with tears, "you don't-" he flexes his own hips now, widens his fingers, "-d-don't, you don't get it."

"What's that?" He grunts, "it's perfectly clear to me."

Louis shakes his head, "you have this preconceived notion that I'm fucking anything with two legs, that I'm using you for sex, that I'm a piece of shit!" He's about to reply but Louis speaks first, drops a bombshell, _the_ bombshell, "you're the only person I've been with since the break up!"

He nearly bursts into a fit of laughter, stops his movements, practically throws Louis to the ground, "Try again, Lou. Maybe I'll actually believe you next time."

"I'm telling the truth. You're the only person I've been with!" Louis remains adamant. "Since we broke up, it's only been you."

He releases his fingers, drops his arms to his sides, "no." Harry says. "I can't believe you." 

Louis is still holding onto him, practically begging, "why? Why can't it be true? Why do I have to be some floozy in your eyes? Why can't…" he searches Harry's face. "Why can't I be trapped, too?"

His breath hitches at the sincerity, "because- because you come here to bring, to bring- to- to-" his voice fails him. "You cheated, Lou. I can't look past that. I can't see you as anything else but unfaithful."

"I know. I know I did this to you and it will take every ounce of my being to convince you that I'm not a fucking slut and that one night I was wrong, so wrong. I've told you this, admitted I fucked up."

His body begins to tingle, "How can you possibly-"

"You have to believe when I say I've only been with you since the day I left to make it up to you, to prove how sorry I am, to prove I want this more than I'm ever willing to admit."

"It's not-" Harry releases a deep breath, flexes his fingers, "I don't-"

"Then kiss me. Kiss me now so I can show you," Louis interlocks their lips, closes the distance between their torsos, silences his anger and uncertainty. 

He follows along having lost his control, kisses back, revels in the taste hitting his tongue. He has to take advantage of this moment, a moment he's finally able to show Louis what he's capable of doing, not dwell on a past he can't change.

He blindly reaches for the lube, squeezes a generous amount on his palm, and slips a hand between their bodies. He'll show him. He'll show Louis what he's been missing then. Show him through Harry's actions.

He grips Louis' bottom, holds him close, prepares himself for what's to come. He lifts off the couch with ease and carries the two of them to the carpet. 

He contemplated the bedroom for a moment but immediately decided against it. Too far. Too personal. Too close to his heart. It was a space they shared for years. To taint it with their casual relations would destroy what they created.

Even though it's already crumbling, he can't bring himself to relive those memories.

He places Louis down, masks his fear of what's to come because how will they end up after this? Will Louis leave for good? Will there be no conclusion? Any solution? Any sign of hope? Will this be to prove a point?

And what point is that exactly? What are they both trying to prove? Out fuck the other one?

"Turn over," he says before he changes his mind.

Louis grimaces, "why?" 

_Because I love you, because if I see you fall apart underneath me I'll chain you to my bed and never let you go, because if I see the pleasure on your face I'll fall even deeper for you_ , "because it's a better angle for me." Harry voices.

"I…" Louis obliges then without question and situates himself on his elbows and knees, "fine."

"It's been far too long," he mumbles to himself. "You've deprived me, Lou."

"When have I ever-" he pinches Louis' ass "-what!?" 

Harry grips his waist, "let's just enjoy ourselves, yeah?" 

"I suppose," the uncertainty is evident. No supposing. He'll make Louis feel good, it's a guarantee.

He takes hold of himself and sighs, "here it goes." He says more to himself as he slips his way in.

And it's pure bliss, he's seeing stars behind his closed eyelids, his body is soaring, his mind is at ease. This is what he's anticipated for how long? How many months? Years? Was it years? 

He'll admit, he loved to bottom, will prefer it over anything, enjoys the manhandling and pleasure inflicted upon him. Especially from Louis. But Harry has his own plan, his own direction, his own fucking means to pleasure this man, to keep him. 

Maybe if he's good enough.

Louis' moans are everything to him, suffocating his heart, twisting the knife deeper into his gut. Harry's love for him is apparent, too evident, washing over him even and it's a relief to his senses, almost his cure but this is temporary. Which he must continue to remind himself because his brain is unable to accept the inevitable. 

Louis' going to leave him. 

But no! He can't have these thoughts. He has to promise himself to remain strong, to not succumb to the loveliness that's Louis, to not allow the cries of pleasure to permeate his senses and give him false hope. _Fuck fuck fuck_. Who is he kidding!?

The groaning is unreal, the euphoria Louis' expressing is pooling in his lower abdomen, building up into something so powerful he'll explode if he doesn't keep his head in check.

"H-Harry," There's a longing in his ex's voice, a hidden desire, "don't ever let me go." Tears burn in his eyes at the confession, "promise me." And that's not a question. It's a demand. 

He finds the willpower to look down upon the man underneath him, to find soft, perfectly tanned skin, an endless bounty of beauty at his fingertips. He is Harry's life. Even after everything they've been through, after all the suffering, after-

"Don't let me go," Louis' voice projects. 

"I, I-" he throws his head back, tightens his grip on Louis' torso, "I _won't_ ," he reassures. "As long as you won't hurt me again."

"As, as long as you-" Louis cries aloud the moment he flicks his hips, penetrates an inch deeper than before, "-stop with the excess-" but his ex doesn't complete that thought, he stumbles on his words, stutters, groans once more. " _Fuck_ you're good."

Harry swipes at his sweated forehead, "you were missing out." 

Louis looks over his shoulder, finds his eyes, "n-no, no Harry, you're sober."

He flinches, "yes. We've discussed this!" He snaps.

Louis turns back around, grips at the carpeting, "y-you don't remember."

He stops his movements, "what? What don't I remember?" His anger surges. "If I recall correctly-"

His ex shakes his head, "no."

He rolls his eyes, "no? Then please enlighten me, Lou." 

"I always come back," Louis admits.

"Come back when?" Harry's fingers are gripping his waist, his nails nearly digging into his skin.

Louis turns towards him, exposes his bloodshot eyes, "I always come back after I leave. I always return in hopes of finding a solution, praying you'll be sober enough to work it out."

He frowns, "when? I don't-"

"You're usually piss drunk, Harry, so drunk you can barely stand, let alone converse. It's really no surprise you don't remember anything, especially this."

His heart sinks, "what?" 

Louis turns back around, "later." 

"B-but I-"

"Harry, you're sober now and that's what matters," Louis says, "and we're sort of in the middle of something, too. So please continue?" 

He swipes his face once more, "I just…" he moves his hips. 

_Louis comes back?_ Harry's mind begins to wander. He comes back to talk it out. To find a solution. Harry's abdomen swells with desire, distracts him but only briefly, he's too enthralled with this new revelation to focus on fucking his ex boyfriend. Louis? _You come back? And we- how could he want me drunk? Am I good drunk too?_

"Faster!" Louis demands.

So he obliges without question, thrusts his hips, uses every ounce of strength he has left- _he comes back_ . _Louis comes back. He comes back, allows me to fuck him completely inebriated, and does what then?_

What does Louis achieve? What's his true intentions? What's the fucking point in returning to Harry? To have a heart to heart!? What if Harry begged him? He nearly faulters at the thought, loses his momentum. Oh fuck. His eyes well. _Do I convince him it's a good idea? Do I-_

"Harry!?" 

_-do I force myself on him?_ He's sweating profusely, pinching at Louis' torso. _When he probably only wants to talk, figure shit out?_

"Harry!!"

 _What have I done!?_ What have they done? _What has he said? Do we do more than fuck? Do we talk? Does Louis think I'll open up and reveal every ounce of my love for him? Does he gain anything from it!?_ His anger blooms once more. 

"Harry, wait!" 

_He wants me to beg for him? What does he gain!? What do I gain? What am I gaining now? What will I get after this? A shitty memory!?_

"Please!" 

His fingers are numb, his knees are chafed from rug burn, his body is covered in perspiration. _Just a memory!? Nothing more? Am I nothing more to him!?_

A sob cuts through the room pulling him from his thoughts. 

"What?" Was that Harry? "I…" His eyes spring open, his breath hitches, his brain refocuses and the sight before him makes his stomach churn. "Louis?"

He's sprawled out on the floor, his fingers digging into the rug, his back trembling from sobs? Out of fear? Pleasure? Pain? Sadness!?

"Louis, holy fuck," he releases his fingers-

"Ah!!" His ex cries.

"What happened!?" He reaches a delicate hand towards Louis' shoulder but finds a tinge of red in his periphery. "I don't- oh _fuck_." Blood is caked underneath his finger nails, painting his nail bed. "How did that happen!?" His eyes widen at the horror. "Louis!?"

But he's crying, sucking in gulps of air, digging his own nails into the carpet.

"What did I do?" He pulls free and his ex collapses to the ground in a heap. "Please I, I didn't mean to- what did I-" He grips his hair, stands on wobbly legs, "Louis please listen to me!"

But his ex shies away, thrusts an arm out to stop him.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry- I don't know what happened!" The sobbing is breaking him into pieces, tearing through his heart, "please, Louis let me hold-"

" _No_!!" 

He swallows back his own sob and stumbles into the coffee table realizing it wasn't just his fingernails that hurt Louis. He lost total control. He went too hard. He did the unthinkable, "no. No, no, no." He bites his lip, "it's not…" he runs from the room feeling suddenly faint.

.

.

.

.

He's covered in this sweet scent that's making his nose burn and eyes water. He was hoping the smell would fade during his walk home but it's just as pungent as it was when he left. 

"Fuck," he stumbles into their apartment, trips over Harry's boot, "that's unlike him." He kicks it aside and makes his way to the bedroom. 

He'll wash his clothes, shower, put this smell behind him and confess to everything in the morning. He must. He can't withhold this information especially from Harry. It'll break the man in two, probably make him drink to excess more often than he already does, probably destroy their relationship but Louis will be honest. 

Even if it means an eminent break up. Finally.

He slips quietly into their room and finds the bed empty, "weird." He kicks his shoes off. Maybe he's in the spare room. After all, Harry was pissed he went out tonight. So he checks their next- "empty." He taps his chin. "Where the fuck could he be?" He heads back to the bedroom, finds Harry's keys, wallet, and phone. "Alright this doesn't make sense." 

His pulse quickens because where the fuck is Harry? Did he go out? Would he forget his phone though? His wallet? He goes to the living room because it's possible he slept on the couch.

He's not there!

He moves to the last room in the apartment, the kitchen- "Harry!" His boyfriend is sprawled out on the floor with an emptied glass next to his head, a now broken glass. He's completely naked, too. _Figures_. "What the fuck happened!?" 

"Mmm…" Harry mumbles.

"God damn it!" He pushes his boyfriend over onto his back, is immediately met with the pungent smell of whiskey, "how much did you drink!?" 

Harry licks his lips, "E-enough."

"Really," his tone is biting, sarcastic. "Could have fooled me."

"I- I never can fool you, Lou," Harry murmurs. "You always know-"

Louis pulls at his boyfriend's hand, "get up." 

"H-hold on, hold on!" 

"Get up now!" He's pissed. So fucking pissed! "Or else I'll leave you here on the floor!"

"I'm getting there," Harry obliges, nearly places his hand in the center of the shattered glass.

"Watch it!" 

"Huh?" Harry's lips are tugged into a slight grin, his eyes hooded, cheek red from resting on the cold floor, "oh, oops." He giggles.

"This isn't funny!" Louis tugs harder on Harry's arm, finally gets him up off the floor, "you could have hurt yourself."

"Like you care," Harry collapses into him, instinctively hooks his arms around his neck. "You'd like to see me- _what's_ that smell?" 

Louis disregards the question and begins the trek back to their bedroom, "let's get you to bed." He says instead.

Harry's footfalls are uneven, sloppy even, "B-but you smell funny."

"It was the bar we went to," he sort of lies.

His boyfriend gags, "smells like a hooker."

He smiles despite himself, "sure." They make it to the bedroom, "here we are." 

"But Louis, you smell funny," Harry plops onto the bed, rubs at his eye. "It's gross. Why do you smell like that? Were girls there? Did Oli bring one of his many, _many_ female friends?"

He yanks his shirt off, "not now." He sheds his jeans next, reaches for a pair of sweats. 

"No! I wanna know! Why do you smell like a woman?" 

He bites his tongue, purposely faces away to hide his flushed cheeks, "because there were women present." 

"B-but, but-" Harry sniffles, "it's so pungent."

"Don't worry about it," he dismisses the sadness in his boyfriend's tone.

"I am! I'm going to because it's all over you and the apartment and you touched me with filthy hands!" 

He groans aloud, stomps to the bathroom to wash his face, "and you're fucking piss drunk. What the hell do you know?" He whispers.

"I hate Oli!!" Harry's voice carries, "he's a bad influence and invites you out to these parties and brings women and tries to push them on you!!" 

"Please stop?" He moans, splashes his face to drown out his boyfriend who's not entirely wrong. It was bad.

"And now you smell like one!!"

He shudders, "and you smell like a drunkard!" He retaliates. 

"F-fuck you." 

He heads back to the bedroom to find Harry still sitting up on the mattress with his head down and hands clasped, "what?"

"What do you mean, _what_!? What happened?" Harry cries.

He rolls his eyes, "I'm not having this discussion now. You're drunk. Goodnight," he heads to the spare room.

"Where are you going!?"

"To bed!!" He shouts.

"You're hiding something!" Harry's voice echoes down the hallway, "and now you're running away!"

He rubs his teary eyes, "I am and I hate myself for it."

"You- you don't love me!!"

He falls into bed, "it's fine. You don't love me either."

.

.

.

.

Harry's sitting on the bathroom floor wishing he were past out drunk. The emotions are far too intense, too crippling, far too deep and he actually wanted to feel this? What the fuck is the matter with him? Why have a sudden change of heart? What made tonight different?

There was no difference. This is what happens when Louis visits, he just chose to be drunk for it.

But he decided to not drink, found he couldn't stomach the alcohol even if he wanted to. So, something changed within him, a switch flipped, he saw the revelation. He wants to make things right again.

He grips his unruly curls, swipes angrily at his cheeks that are soaked with unrelenting tears, tears he can't stop shedding no matter how hard he tries. 

Louis is in the other room aching, probably cursing him out, possibly wishing he were dead. And he can't even be angry about that. Harry lost control, got stuck in his head, fucked up in the worst way possible. He hurt Louis when he was most vulnerable.

But how did Louis expect him to react!? To act all macho and proud!? To feel empowered? Something? Because he didn't. If anything he knows how Louis feels. Trapped, as Louis put it. They're both trapped and unable to do anything about it because when they do collide, all reasoning dissipates.

They're left bare.

Harry managed to wash away the blood, scrubbed at his fingers and face, cried some more as the memory of Louis' sobs resurface. And he hasn't moved!! He's still in the living room, on the floor? Did he get dressed?

What if he's in shock? What if his back is so sore he can't move!? He cries harder into the back of his hand. What if he leaves for good? What if this was the final straw? What if this was all Louis needed? Harry will never see him again. 

"Ever?" He chokes, "ever again?" He reaches for the counter, pulls himself off the floor, "I'll never see his sweet face again? I'll never be able to touch him or hold him?" He reaches for a hand towel, "what if he never returns?" 

The shadow of his reflection looms over him, the monster he's become is just a glance away. He can't look. 

"What if I ruined this for good?" He leaves the bathroom and silently pads down the hallway, "please don't hate me." He peers around the corner, finds Louis still on the floor beside the coffee table. 

He hasn't moved an inch.

"Louis?" His voice cracks, "Lou?" He notes the blood dotting his rug. "Are we able to talk?" 

Louis' facing away, remaining stock still, "about what?"

He clasps his hands together, "w-well, well about what happened? About what you told me?"

"But you don't believe me. What's it matter?" His tone is flat, unfeeling.

He shifts his weight, "it's not that I don't believe you I just-"

"I put that doubt in you when I decided to cheat on you. I understand." 

He diverts his gaze, "you do? How?"

"How, you say?" Louis looks to him from over his shoulder.

He takes a step back from the intensity, "yes. How do you understand how I feel? I remained faithful."

“Every thrust, every bout of pain, every single tear-” He watches his ex stand with calculated movements, finds Louis’ pinched features as he moves. “That’s exactly how my heart felt.” Louis finds his clothes scattered about, reaches delicately for each item. “After every sip of alcohol you took, after every drunken night, after the countless times I pleaded with you to stop.” It’s evident he’s crying, maybe from the pain in his backside or from his emotions.

Harry's frozen in place though, his own heart jarring in his chest.

“That’s how I felt, Harry. This is how you left me; broken and irreparable, shattered, in pain,” Louis sniffles back his tears, thrusts his leg through his denim jeans.

He’s watching, he’s speechless, he’s mute because that's exactly how he felt. Harry was shattered and pained.

“S-so, so now Harry. This is for you,” Louis finds the cake box on the dining table, thrusts it into Harry’s trembling hands. “Happy Birthday.” 

“B-but I-”

“No,” Louis shakes his head, turns away and continues to dress, “no. You’ve done enough. You’ve proven your point. You’ve made it quite clear.”

His eyes well with tears, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“We hurt each other,” Louis admits as he puts his coat on, “we both hurt each other tonight, both proved we’re both wrong, both-” Louis falls silent.

But he’s relentless, “Both _what_?” he practically begs.

His ex hesitates, bites at his lip, “in love with each other.” Harry’s stomach twists. “But it’s not with this version of ourselves.” Louis makes his way to the door.

“Baby-”

“Don’t call me that,” Louis snaps.

He swipes at his eyes, “why? Why can’t we talk it out? Why can’t we try? Why are you leaving? Why are you-” He chokes, “don’t go. I wanna talk."

Louis is facing the door, “Harry, it’s time. It’s time we moved on.”

He sobs into his chest, hugs the box close, “I can’t!!! I can’t move on from you because I'm trapped. I can’t think of anyone else or compare their passion and love and patience to you. You’re everything to me. You’re my- you're _mine_."

“Ex, Harry. I’m your ex and that’s all. What we had was special, fucked up, two wrongs trying desperately to make a right. But it’s done now. We’re done.” His body goes numb. “Happy Birthday, hope you enjoy the cake.” Louis turns the handle, opens the door wide. He hesitates, “don’t forget to smudge your name for good luck.”

“W-will, will it bring you back? Will my luck bring you back?”

Louis shakes his head, “no. No Harry. This is my birthday present to you.” He walks out into the hallway allowing the door to slam shut.

  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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